“And you never questioned it?” he asked as their lunches were served. “You just swallowed the prepackaged life?”

“You make it sound like I was a robot. But yeah, I guess I went with it. But I also liked it, you know? I didn’t know anything else. And while I’m glad I don’t live there now, I can’t say I regretted any of it. It was a good childhood.”

Jake slid one of his ravioli onto her plate and then sampled her pasta. Grace blinked a little in surprise. Greg had hated sharing food.

“Come on, not one little moment of rebellion?” he asked. “Tell me you at least have a microscopic tattoo, or went to prom with a boy who rode a motorcycle …”

“I painted my nails navy once. Does that count?”

Jake groaned and topped off her wineglass. “You’re worse off than I thought.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Were you the boy on the motorcycle that took the nice girl to prom?”

“Nah. But I did look pretty cool picking Leslie Kalutz up in my parents’ station wagon, if I do say so myself.”

Grace fanned herself. “Wow. Well, I’ll sure be putting that in my article under the ‘sexy moments’ section.”

A strange expression flashed across his face, and he dropped his gaze to his plate, stabbing at a piece of ravioli.

“Did I say something wrong?” The question was out before she could rethink it. Twenty-something years of being a chronic people pleaser was a hard routine to shake.

“Not at all,” he said, giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You were doing your job, focusing on the article. I, on the other hand, had forgotten all about it.”

Grace ordered the butterflies in her stomach to evacuate, but they stayed put. She had him exactly where she wanted him—where she’d been on the debacle of that last date. She should feel elated.

Instead she felt … flustered. Maybe a little longing.

Meanwhile, Grace 2.0 was taking notes on all the things she was doing wrong. The list was massive, and they hadn’t even hit dessert yet.

“You have to admit, it’s only fair,” she said, smiling to put him at ease. “You had me practically swooning on the last date.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, come on—you read my article. You know I fell just a tiny bit before I caught wind of the game.”

He helped himself to more of her penne. “Tell me something, Grace … I imagine you’re doing this whole dating article for the same reason I am. Boss’s orders … but is this fake dating interfering with the real thing? I mean, is there someone for real, someone you’re seeing because you want to? Not because you’re getting paid to?”

“Definitely not,” she said decisively.

“Aha,” he said, pointing his fork at her. “I knew it. I’m your shield.”

“My shield?”

“As long as you’re in this little competition with me, it gives you an out to not see anyone else.”

She wiped her mouth daintily, relieved that for once he could be wrong about something. “Actually, Mr. Malone, I’d be single with or without this assignment.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sabbatical. No men for six months.”

He choked a little on his wine. “You mean no serious relationship, right? You don’t mean no men.”

“Are you trying to ask me if I’m going on a sex hiatus?”

“Hell yes, that’s what I’m trying to ask you. For the sake of the story, naturally.”

“Naturally,” she said, her smirk telling him she knew better. “But to answer your question, I have no intention of getting involved with a man in any way for six months.”

“You’re involved with me.”

“Um, no,” she said, treating herself to a chunk of bread that she dunked into his creamy pasta sauce. “I’m working with you. There’s a big difference. It’s not personal.”

“Is that why your pulse jumps every time I touch your wrist?”

“My pulse jumps because that’s a nice move,” she said candidly. “I’m sure every woman’s pulse jumps when you do that.”

Jake looked a little stung. “That’s not a move. Believe it or not, that’s not something I do to every woman I meet.”

It’s not? “But you did it that night at the bar when you were twisting me around your finger like I was a stupid groupie.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the spontaneous gesture surprisingly appealing. “That night wasn’t entirely manufactured. Did I say a couple things that I knew you’d like? Sure. Because I can read women. Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Jake leaned forward then, his expression more serious than she’d seen it. “But here’s what I didn’t put in the article. That night wasn’t about reading women. It was about reading you. I liked what I saw. So yeah, I did what I could to make sure you’d like me back.”

His hand snagged hers hard before she could pull away, but the gesture gentled immediately as his thumb brushed over the inside of her wrist. “And this? This little jumpy flutter right here? This tells me I was successful. Then and now.”

Well, damn … why the hell had she sent Emma away with that video camera?

And the more important question—why was she so relieved that she had?

Chapter Nine

Jake couldn’t remember ever being mad at a woman. Annoyed, sure. A little exasperated, probably.

But there was a first time for everything, and he was most definitely angry with Grace Brighton.

“Is she expecting you?” a polite doorman asked an impatient Jake.

She should be, he thought darkly. Grace was too smart to think she could pull a stunt like that and not piss him off.

She’d known that he’d respond to that provocative text message about the dream with more than polite curiosity.

She’d known that he’d liked touching her. Had known that he wanted her, even though his first article hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about that.

And then the woman had gone and caught it all on freaking video.

Oh, and then she’d gone and put it on the Internet.

Along with a poll: “Does This Man Want This Woman?”

The results were in. Ninety-four percent of genius Stiletto readers had voted yes.

Jake knew that she’d wanted him too. It had been in the way she’d crossed and uncrossed her legs. The way she’d watched his mouth every time he took a sip of wine or smiled at her.

The way her pulse had fluttered under his touch.

But he had no proof.

His words were nothing compared to what she’d caught on camera.

Making things worse, Alex Cassidy was pissed. Here was his star womanizer staring across the table dopily at the woman who was conning him. Then Jake had reached out to touch her not once but twice.

And the real nail in his coffin was in the final shot—the way his hungry eyes had followed her shapely ass all the way to the bathroom before it had blissfully cut to black.

Thank God her accomplice hadn’t caught the end of the meal when he’d been this close to asking Grace Brighton out for real.

“Yeah, she’s expecting me,” Jake growled at the expectant doorman, who was already lifting the phone to his ear to call Grace.

After a hushed conversation between doorman and tenant, the short gray-haired man gave Jake a polite smile. “She says to go right on up.”

“Thanks,” Jake said curtly as he made his way to the high-rise apartment building’s elevator. Classy place for a classy lady.

Although classy wasn’t the only thing the building and the woman had in common, he thought snidely as his eyes searched for and found the discreet elevator camera. They both had a thing for hidden cameras.

His knock on Grace’s door was sharp and decisive, and he wasn’t surprised that she made him wait.

He was surprised by the version of Grace that awaited him on the other side of the door.

Grace Brighton in that tight pencil skirt on that first morning in the cab had been intriguing. The version in the sexy dress? Seductive as hell. And the other day in the deceptively demure shirt and slacks? She’d been pure, cool sophistication.

But Grace Brighton in a short—very short—blue robe that managed to look slinky and cozy at the same time …

This Grace was dangerous.

Dangerous to him.

Damn it. The 94 percent of women who’d voted in that idiotic poll had been right. He absolutely did want this woman.

“Jake,” she said in her smooth, upper-class voice.

“Grace.” He pushed past into her apartment. She let him.

“Nice place,” he said looking around at the surprisingly warm apartment. He’d been expecting lots of blues and whites and stainless steel, but instead she’d opted for amiable browns and earth colors. The effect was welcoming. Calming.

“I was about to take a bath,” she said pointedly. “It’s late.”

He didn’t give a fuck.

He spun back toward the conniving little sneak, moving toward her until she was backed against the door. He saw the pulse in her neck leap, and any other time he might have celebrated her reaction. Might have even lightly run his tongue along that delicate flutter.

But then he remembered the appalled look on Alex Cassidy’s face when he’d called Jake into his office and shown him that damn website. Remembered the incredulous amusement on his colleagues’ faces after word got around that Jake had been outsmarted.

He didn’t even blame them. He’d be smirking too if one of the other Oxford guys had been dumb enough to get his dick caught in some wily female’s trap.

He wanted to grab Grace’s defiant chin and kiss the smug look off her face, but then he’d only be proving that damn website’s point.

And the woman didn’t need any more ammunition against him.

“For a website called HeSaidSheSaid-dot-com, you certainly didn’t bother to get the he-said portion,” Jake growled.

“And what would the he portion have entailed?” she said quietly. “Would he have denied it?”

“Hell no,” he said. “I wanted you that day, and I don’t care who knows it.”

She blinked. “You don’t?”

“Nope. If I cared about keeping my private life private, I sure as hell wouldn’t have agreed to work for a magazine that occasionally demands I spill my guts.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem, Grace, is that you, my partner in this, didn’t give me the least bit of warning.”

She rolled her eyes. “Give me a break. First of all, we’re not partners. We both know this is a competition. Second of all, if you’d had this idea first … if Oxford had sent a camera to catch irrefutable proof that I wanted you, would you have told me? Or would you have jumped at the chance to gain the upper hand?”

He wanted to refute her accusation. He couldn’t. It had been a damned good idea. And she was right. He wished he’d thought of it first.

So what the hell was eating at him? His pride was stinging, sure, but the burn was deeper than that.

“I wanted you to trust me,” he said quietly, putting both palms flat on the door on either side of her head and leaning forward for a split second before pushing back and turning away from her. “We agreed that next month’s print article would be about reading sexual undertones of a second date. I wrote it the afternoon after that lunch, and I was honest. Oxford readers were going to hear from me just how badly I wanted to know what color your bra was, and if your ass is as great up close as it is from a distance.”

“You can still tell them yourself,” she said giving him a patronizing smile. “This online portion was just a little appetizer to get people excited about the upcoming October issue.”

“Bullshit,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “This was about revenge, pure and simple.”

She wisely clammed up as she tightened the belt of the tiny little robe and moved toward the fridge.

The woman had fantastically curvy legs. And if that robe would just creep a couple of inches higher, he’d get a prime view of the ass that he couldn’t get out of his mind. His fingers itched.

He shoved them in his pocket.

What was wrong with him?

“Wine?” she asked, pulling a bottle out of the fridge.

“You’re changing the subject,” he said. “And I’ll take a drink, but do you have anything stronger?”

She poured a glass of wine for herself before gesturing to the sidebar along the window. “Help yourself.”

Jake poured himself a healthy dose of excellent bourbon before helping himself to a couple of ice cubes from her freezer.

She leaned back against the counter, watching him warily. “So you already wrote your piece?”

“Yup. Finished it about ten minutes before my boss called me into his office and showed me my splattered dignity all over his computer screen.”

He was oddly gratified to see the flash of guilt on her face. She was devious, but at least she wasn’t completely without a conscience.

“You work fast,” she said quietly.

“What can I say? A couple things were fresh on my mind.” He let his eyes linger on her chest, and as he expected, her fingers reflexively moved to grasp the lapels of her robe and pull them closer together. She caught his knowing look, and her knuckles tightened briefly before she removed her hand.

All that fussing with the robe left it more open than it had been before. Not enough to give him a glimpse of cleavage, but just the smallest shrug of her shoulders or the tiniest tug with his fingers, and he’d be able to see …